On a Knife's Edge

by Lynda Bailey

  *

  Lynch sat in a chair, wearing only his jeans, and patiently allowed a female EMT kneeling beside him to take his blood pressure while a male EMT hunched over and swabbed the cuts on his face with antibacterial wipes. The medicine burned like a mother, but Lynch kept his attention on the tall, balding detective who tapped a small notebook with a pen.

  The once good-sized room had shrunk with all the various security personal and cops cluttering the space. Some took pictures of the busted door frame while others combed the demolished bed, collecting spent shell casings as the body of the dead would-be assassin was wheeled from the room.

  The tapping stopped and the detective frowned. “And you’re positive you can’t think of a reason why you were attacked, Mr. Wilson?”

  Lynch inwardly groaned. Asking the same fucking question four different ways wouldn’t change his response. “Yeah…I’m positive.”

  “And you don’t know this man?” He showed Lynch his phone, and the picture of the dead Hispanic.

  While Lynch did recognize the guy from the clubhouse, he didn’t know his name. He shook his head.

  “He’s a member of a local gang.”

  “I still got nothing.”

  “All right, Mr. Wilson, let me ask you this—” The detective’s cell rang. He checked the ID then held a finger up to Lynch. “Excuse me a minute. Duncan,” he said into the phone.

  The male paramedic put a butterfly bandage on a cut over Lynch’s right eye and the woman released the blood pressure cuff.

  “BP’s normal,” she said, her gaze on Lynch’s bare chest a beat or two too long. She packed the equipment and stood. “You sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine,” Lynch replied absently, watching Duncan who abruptly straightened his posture. The detective closed his phone then said something to a behemoth uniformed cop.

  “Okay,” the male EMT said, snapping off his rubber gloves and yanking Lynch’s attention from the officers. “Follow up with your regular physician if those cuts get infected.”

  “Will do.”

  The paramedics left. The detective jotted in his notebook again then he and the officer turned. And the hairs on Lynch’s neck stood at attention.

  Shit, shit and triple shit.

  He had a bad feeling about that phone call, especially since both cops now rested their hands on their weapons. But rather than show weakness, he went on offensive. “Are we done?”

  Duncan grinned. “‘Fraid not, Mr.…” He looked at his notes. “…Wilson. We need to go everything one more time.”

  “What’s there to go over? I was sleeping when two guys busted into my room, guns blazing. I don’t know who they were or why they were after me.”

  “Right…and this?” The detective picked up the bagged 44 mag from the table.

  “A…friend loaned it to me.”

  “And the name of this…friend?”

  Lynch scoured his brain for an answer, but came up empty. All he knew for sure was he couldn’t tell Duncan anything even remotely close to the truth.

  A commotion in the hallway and a loud woman’s voice ruptured the tense silence. Then Jarvis plowed into the room.

  With her hair a tousled mess and lines marring her face, it appeared she hadn’t seen sleep in more than twenty-four hours.

  Duncan raised his hand. “Sorry, ma’am, but this is a crime scene.”

  “My name is Emma Jarvis. I’m a lawyer and that man is my client.”

  Duncan pivoted back. “You called your lawyer? Way to look guilty.”

  Jarvis stepped in front of Lynch. “Kindly refrain from speaking directly to my client.” She glanced around the room then focused her stare on the detective, her arms crossed. “Care to fill me in Detective…?”

  “Duncan. And not at all, counselor.” Disdain dripped from the words. “Seems your client shot a man to death tonight.”

  “It also seems, detective, from the shattered door frame and obliterated bed, that the shooting was justified.”

  Duncan scowled. “He’s also wanted in the murder of a deputy sheriff in Grant County.”

  Jarvis cocked her head. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but Grant County isn’t your jurisdiction. If you insist on charging my client for what happened here, I’ll need a few minutes—in private—to confer with him.”

  The detective’s frown deepened. “Fine,” he bit out. “Everybody out.” He glared at Jarvis. “We’ll be outside.”

  Once the room was cleared, Jarvis directed her laser stare to Lynch, her arms still crossed. “You want to tell me what the hell happened while I was in DC? What’s this about a deputy sheriff being killed?”

  “Didn’t Newman fill you in?”

  “That little tidbit must’ve slipped his mind.”

  Lynch rubbed both hands down his face. He’d never felt so exhausted before in his life. “The body of one Todd Weedly was found last night next to my trailer. Shot in the back of the head.”

  Her jaw dropped. “What?”

  “Yeah…and if that wasn’t bad enough, a nine mil Glock was found in my gear. It’s a ballistics match to the gun that killed Weedly.”

  “Jesus Christ.” She plopped onto the non-destroyed side of the bed.

  “And apparently no fingerprints were on that Glock. Not even the bullets.”

  Jarvis massaged her temples. “So you’re being framed.” She dropped her hands and looked at him. “Any idea by whom?”

  “No.” He leaned forward. “But I do know the only other person who knew where I was and under what name was your partner, FBI Special Agent Sam Newman.”

  “You’re saying Sam set you up?” She shook her head. “No way. I trust Sam with my life.”

  “You got a better explanation?”

  “Not at the moment, but I can’t believe Sam’s behind this.”

  “Still maybe we should keep him out of the loop for a while.”

  “Too late for that. I texted him after I got your message. In fact, I’m surprised he wasn’t here when I arrived.”

  “Really? I’m not.”

  As though on cue, Newman walked into the room. He stopped abruptly. “Holy Christ…” He turned a befuddled gaze to Jarvis and Lynch. “I saw all the cops in the hall…what the hell happened?” He stepped closer. “You okay, Callan?”

  “Oh…now you’re concerned?” Lynch jeered.

  “Where have you been?” Jarvis demanded as she stood. “I texted you over an hour ago.”

  “Yeah…I was…otherwise engaged.”

  “Doing what?”

  A stain crept across Newman’s face. “I needed to blow off some steam so I went to the Comstock Whorehouse, and left my phone in the car.”

  “The Comstock? Seriously?” Jarvis shook her head with a disgusted grunt. “Who else knew about this hotel and Callan’s cover name?”

  “No one.”

  The silence drew out long and slow as Jarvis and Lynch simply stared at Newman.

  Realization dropped Newman’s jaw. “Wait…you think I had something to do with this?”

  “You just said no one else knew where I was,” Lynch said.

  “No one but you and me and…” His voice drifted off.

  “And?” Jarvis asked.

  “Adam Murphy.” Newman ducked his head and propped his hands on his hips. “Adam fucking Murphy. It was his idea to use the Flamingo Star hotel and the cover name Garret Wilson.” The agent snorted. “He played me. He fucking played me with all that RICO crap. Jesus…how goddamn stupid of me.”

  “If Murphy’s behind this, then the whole operation is compromised,” Jarvis said low.

  “Yeah…” Newman gusted a breath. “Christ…”

  Lynch sat on the bed. “You really think Murphy’s behind this shit? Seems a stretch for a smalltime DA.”

  Jarvis waved her hand to the room. “How else do you explain your late night visitors?”

  “I dunno. Maybe he’s being blackmailed like Rolo.”

 
Jarvis narrow her eyes then looked at Newman. “What else do you know about Murphy?”

  “Not a whole helluva lot,” Newman confessed.

  “Dig into his background and finances. Quietly,” Jarvis directed. “And keep a discreet eye on his activities too.”

  “You got it.”

  “There’s one more thing you two should know,” Lynch said. “The dead shooter was a Streeter.”

  Both agents swung their gazes to him “You sure?” they asked together.

  “Very. He’s one of Junkyard’s minions.”

  “Holy shit—” Jarvis paced between the shot-up bureau and the bed, her fingers combing through her hair. “If the gang’s now gunning for you…”

  “They’re not gunning for me, counselor,” Lynch interjected. “Junkyard is.”

  She stopped and rubbed a hand across her forehead. “In any case, the first thing is to get you someplace safe.”

  “I’m all for that. Whatcha you got in mind?”

  She tapped her lips with her finger. “We won’t move you, but keep you right here at the Flamingo Star.”

  Lynch stood. “Is that a good idea?”

  “Makes sense,” Newman added. “Keeping you here might be the last thing anyone would suspect. Besides, with the shootout, the security is going to be amped up big time.”

  Jarvis nodded. “My thoughts exactly. But how can we make sure someone’s not watching the hotel? They’ll see if he leaves. And what the hell are we going to do with all the local LEOs in the hallway?”

  Newman pulled out his cell. “I might be able to take care everything with one call.” He punched in a number while walking to the other side of the room.

  Jarvis looked at Lynch. “Still think he set you up?”

  Lynch watched Newman as he spoke into the phone, too softly to be heard. “I’m reserving judgment.”

  “If it makes you feel better, I won’t be leaving your side for the foreseeable future.”

  He allowed a slow grin to crease his face. “I didn’t know you cared, counselor.”

  She scoffed. “About you? I don’t. I care about cleaning up this mess then getting back to the work of ending Blackwell and Fuentes.”

  *

  The roaring clap of seven rifles firing made Shasta flinch.

  Standing next to Graham’s wheelchair, amidst the mourners at the Lady of Snow cemetery in Reno, she pressed a shredded tissue to her teary eyes and stared at the flag-draped casket.

  Another boom of gunshots broke the quiet.

  She never knew Todd had been in the National Guard, or that he served two tours in Iraq. She also didn’t know he was divorced with a twelve-year-old daughter. Seemed there was a quite a bit she hadn’t known about the late deputy.

  One last blast of gunfire sounded, then a bugler played Taps as the flag was reverently folded and handed to the weeping parents.

  Shasta bit her lip to stem the sob in her throat, but her tears weren’t from grief so much as remorse. She should have been nicer to Todd. While his often disturbing and inappropriate innuendos had creeped her out, maybe she’d misjudged him. Maybe he’d actually been a decent guy. She watched the coffin being lowered into the ground. Now she’d never know.

  She waited patiently in line with Graham to express sympathy to the grieving family. Her husband shook Mr. Weedly’s hand, leaning in to whisper something. The older man grinned slightly with a small nod of his head. Leave it to her husband to know just what to say.

  Graham achieved another a tiny smile when he spoke to Mrs. Weedly. All Shasta could muster was a lame, “Sorry for your loss.”

  Finished with the condolences, she walked beside Graham as he traversed the bumpy ground toward the paved path. Adam joined them.

  “Graham…might I have a word?” The look he sent Shasta curdled her stomach.

  Graham looked back at her. “I’ll meet you at the van.”

  “All right.” She bent down and kissed Graham’s cheek.

  As she strolled toward the parking lot, she saw Dell, wearing his dress uniform and trying not to lean too much on his cane, chatting with several other officers from the surrounding departments. Despite their sunglasses, she could see the sorrow engraved on their faces. When one of their own went down, they all mourned. She gave a small wave to Dell, who excused himself and fell into step with her.

  “How ya doing, sis?”

  She sighed. “Okay. Relieved that Graham’s home.” She stopped at her husband’s custom-built van. “If it’s all right with you, I won’t be coming in today. Or for the next couple of days.” She swept hair off her forehead. “I think I’ll take Wyatt out of school early, too. I just want to hug him. Like a lot.”

  Dell’s mouth twisted in a grin. “I don’t blame you.” His smile vanished. “I’m also glad you’re planning to stick close to home. You should know that we haven’t been able to locate Callan.”

  Shasta tilted her head. “Why would I need to know that?”

  “Because of what happened on Sunday, I want you to be on your guard. And to call if he contacts you.”

  “You honestly think he’ll contact me?”

  “He most likely won’t, but I want you prepared.”

  She shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

  He kissed her forehead. “As it should be.” He dodged her elbow with a chuckle. “I gotta get back to the office.”

  Dell left while Graham cruised up. He hit the fob and the van lights blinked. She slid open the van door and pushed the button to activate the hydraulics.

  “What did Adam want?” she asked.

  “To give me an update on the Streeter situation.”

  Her husband’s brusque tone didn’t surprise her. Graham wasn’t one to wear his heart on his sleeve, but he cared deeply about anyone working in law enforcement. Todd’s death had to be hitting him hard.

  Graham wheeled himself onto the square platform, pushed another button and was lifted into the van. He then pivoted into position behind the wheel. She closed the door and hoisted herself into the passenger seat.

  He started the engine and through a series of hand joysticks which controlled the gas and brake pedals, he pulled from the parking space and drove slowly from the memorial park. At the street, he turned left and waited at the stoplight.

  “I thought maybe tomorrow we could come back to Reno and get your broken phone replaced,” he offered out of the blue.

  Icicles sprouted in her belly and she rubbed her arms. “Oh, that’s not necessary.”

  “Of course it is. You can’t live without your cell.”

  She compelled a modest laugh past her lips. It sounded tinny in her ears. “Sure I can. We’ve got the landline at the house which is all I’ll need since I’m not going anywhere.” And I didn’t break my phone in the first place… Another forced chuckle. “Besides, I don’t want to bother you.”

  “It’s no bother, sweetheart.” The van moved through the intersection when the light turned green. “We can go to lunch while we’re in town. That new Indian restaurant. Make a date of it.”

  “Lunch is a wonderful idea, but couldn’t we take care of my phone now rather than making another whole trip back to Reno?”

  “We’ll need the SIM card from your old cell.”

  “Why?”

  “To transfer all your contacts and pictures.” He glanced at her. “You’ll want those, right?”

  Her head spun, and she grappled for a counter-argument, but nothing came to mind.

  “Shasta…honey…is something wrong?”

  She stared at her lap. “I don’t have the SIM card.”

  “Oh? Why not?” He pulled to a halt at another stoplight.

  She angled slightly away from him as her silence mushroomed in the cab.

  “Honey…is it because you didn’t break your phone like you told me?”

  She swung her head around to stare at Graham. He gazed at her with an unreadable expression. “What did Dell tell you?”

  He looked back at the street and
eased onto the gas. “Your brother? Nothing. However, Adam told me about your little…outing on Sunday.”

  Annoyance poured over Shasta. “Why would he do that?”

  “Maybe because he figured I’d be concerned about my wife.”

  “I didn’t want to worry you.”

  A derisive chuckle puffed from his mouth. “I’m your husband. It’s my job to worry about you.”

  “I know.” She reached over and touched his arm. “I’m sorry.”

  He smacked the steering wheel with his palm, clearly and uncharacteristically agitated. “Damn it…do you have any idea how lucky you were that nothing happened?”

  She bowed her head, her hands folded tightly in her lap, as images from the barn hijacked her thoughts. She’d rather be staked to a rattlesnake nest than hurt Graham…

  “Nothing did happen, right honey?”

  She shut her eyes at the unease in his voice and prayed for the seat to swallow her whole.

  “Did Callan rape you?” The steely edge to Graham’s voice promised retribution.

  She yanked up her head. “No. Nothing like that happened.”

  He gave her a sharp look. “But something did happen.”

  Crap.

  She swallowed hard. “Nothing happened. I swear.”

  Turning the van southward onto State Route 314, he stared straight ahead, tension rippling along his jaw line. She gazed at the passing casinos of downtown as the uncomfortable silence prickled her skin. But she felt powerless to alleviate it.

  After several miles, he finally broke the quiet. “Shasta, honey, I’m neither blind nor stupid to the fact that you have certain…needs. Needs that I’m incapable—”

  Tears welled in her eyes. “Graham…please…”

  “Let me finish.” He sighed. “I know ours was never a love for the ages, but over the years I’ve come to care deeply for you, and for Wyatt. And I’d like to think you feel the same about me.”

  She covered his hand gripping the steering wheel. “I do feel the same. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Me neither. However it’s like I said…I’m not ignorant of reality. I don’t know if you’ve sought out physical relationships with other men…God knows no one could blame you for having an affair—”